


Left His Arms Empty

by SeraphsFallen (FallenSeraphs)



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Artistic Liberties, Fluff to Angst, M/M, Mind the Character Death tag, One paragraph of summarized smut, SOLDIER timeframe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenSeraphs/pseuds/SeraphsFallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zack has a heart filled to bursting with love, but Cloud has no idea how to accept or return it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left His Arms Empty

 

_“I love you.”_

Zack doesn’t ever take it back. Not the first time, not the thousandth. He simply smiles at the phrase once it’s been said—as if it’s an anticipated visitor, a fortuitous surprise. He accepts ownership of it, welcomes its presence in the air between them, as if the heavy thing it means holds all the weight of a feather. 

Cloud tries to make himself believe he’s heard wrong, that it’s somehow meant platonically. It’s easy. At least, it is the first few times. But as their relationship grows more serious— he worries it might be _true._

-

The first time Zack says he loves him, it seems to simply slip from his mouth.

That day, Cloud returns to their room from patrol. It’s summer and a hot swamp pools underneath his helmet, his scalp literally itching for reprieve. He unlatches the chin strap of the damned thing and tosses onto the floor, watches it roll and knock lazily into one of the wooden posts of the bunk bed. There’s giggling from up above, and he realizes with a raise of his brows— he has a watcher.

All his eyes catch when they peer up are disheveled sheets and Zack’s wrist, draped over the edge of the mattress, bare fingers flinching as the laughter continues. The sound is a bit too loud, a bit too wild in the small space they share, but Cloud can’t help but wonder a little at how bright it feels against his ears, at just how _alive_ it is.

“What’s so funny?” Cloud asks, chin tilting up at the top bunk. 

“Your hair,” Zack answers.

Cloud strips his gloves off and touches the spikes with his bare fingertips— feeling, patting, pinching— beginning just barely at the scalp and following through to each point. “It doesn’t feel flat.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Zack answers, gripping the edge of the mattress and pulling his torso into view. He slouches and lifts his palm, resting his jaw on it, an ever-easy grin dripping from his lips, “You don’t have hat hair. You never do. In fact,” he tries valiantly to hold in a snort, but out it comes, _“Your hair defies hats.”_  

Cloud’s face morphs into a dull still-life. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zack stifles more giggles, bubbles like a soda can under pressure.

“Also,” Cloud adds with a small flush and a blink, “Have you taken a look at _your_ hair lately? Hypocrite.”

Zack can’t contain himself anymore. His face flops from his hand into the mattress. His legs bicycle like a toddler’s. His laughter booms into the sheets. Every time it appears he might stop, his wet, bleary eyes peer down at blond spikes and it all starts again.

It’s such a little thing, Cloud thinks.

It can’t possibly be _that_ hilarious.

And yet Zack always laughs at little things, smiles at little things. The knowledge of that fact swells up in Cloud’s chest until it’s tight with something he can’t give words. He can’t help but return a grin as he turns his face away. His fingers clutch his sides through his uniform and he realizes he’s chuckling too.

It’s in the middle of this moment—  in this small window of shared mirth— that Zack looks down at him, his eyes all warmth and crinkled edges— and those three big words escape.

Cloud’s laughter fades. Blunt fingernails scrape the fabric over his lungs, dig in even tighter.   

-

_“I love you.”_

Every time Zack says it, it’s as if his lungs forget they need air.

Cloud wonders how Zack could say something so strange, so very _wrong_ to his own ears.

He silently thanks Zack’s ability to carry on after as if nothing has happened. To never ask Cloud why he can’t just manage to form the words back.

Cloud envies being able to handle mistakes with such grace.

-

Though technically, they still have bunk beds, the top bed has become more of a makeshift canopy. Zack no longer sleeps there— he’s long claimed his spot in Cloud’s already too small bed.  

The first night of this arrangement, Zack comes in, each step an exaggerated stretch of leg, making pitiful whimpers and complaining overly loud.

“Man, oh man. Standing guard for Heidegger today was _brutal._ ” Zack glances over his shoulder, pointedly in Cloud’s direction. Certain his audience is awake, he continues, “I just… I don’t think I can climb the ladder up to my bed tonight. It’s just so _high_.”

Cloud sits up in his bed, knees forming a tent, and turns to face Zack. His stare speaks volumes of just how thoroughly he does not believe him, of how ludicrous it is that anyone so pumped with mako has problems standing a few hours or climbing ladders meant for small children.

“It’s just… so high…” Zack repeats, his expression becoming sheepish, “Hey, do you think that maybe-”

“-Just get in”

“Are you sure?”

Cloud rolls over to make room, “I don’t mind.”

Zack hops in with a _‘Yes’_ not likely meant to be heard and Cloud covers his face in the sheets to hide his growing smile. 

It’s fall now, months since, and Cloud has decided that, actually, he _does_ mind. He’s discovered that Zack isn’t just a blanket hogger— he is a blanket _thief_.

Still, Zack slips in without any excuse, sliding up behind him as the bed dips with a comforting weight—  and though Cloud has many things to say about the situation, not one of them is to ask Zack to leave.

“You ever think I might get cold?” Cloud grumbles, promptly robbed, yet again, of any cover. His body curls into a nautilus and presses against the wall.

“Are you?” Zack turns toward him, envelopes his waist in his arms. Cloud can feel a familiar grin spreading at the nape of his neck, “I’ll warm you up.”

-

What follows is a litany of kisses, of firm hands, searching lips and plundering tongues. The blanket soon finds itself forgotten, haphazardly knocked onto the floor. Between the friction and sweat of their mingling bodies, Zack makes good on his word. Cloud feels the heat build in his lover’s breath behind him, feels it pump like a slick piston deep inside, feels it gather in the tightening knot of his stomach— until they both burst.

“I love you,” Zack sighs as he is slumped against Cloud’s back, finger tracing freckles in the narrow plain between his shoulders, drawing pictures and writing words. Near the base of his spine, Cloud feels the outline of a heart being lightly scratched into his flesh.

It makes Cloud shudder— but not from pleasure.

 “…Why?” he finally asks Zack. His voice is a crack in the darkness between his pillow and the crossed arms his forehead rests on. “You say you…” he swallows, “…but _why_?”

Zack seizes him by the elbow and pulls him over, until his back is draped across Zack’s lap and he’s forced to look up into his face. Cloud tries to pull an arm up to hide himself, but it’s quickly pushed down and pinned against the bed.

Zack looks between his eyes with a seriousness that’s so unlike him, but fierce, “Tell me— is there anything not to love?”

Cloud doesn’t speak.

He’s left Nibelheim miles away, but in his mind, it may as well be next door.

Next door, where a girl named Tifa lived. Each day, he peered through the glass of her window but never once had the courage to knock the door. The boys that _did_ knock were invited in. Cloud would watch with a touch of envy as they sat on the floor of her room, all crossed-legged in a circle, trading jokes to make each other laugh.

He thought they were all stupid. That much was fair— they all thought he was weird.

He remembers the one day he had more bravery than the rest, remembers following Tifa through Mt. Nibel where all the other boys hesitated to take another step. One by one, they all turned and ran out of fear, leaving Tifa behind. Cloud swore he wouldn’t. He would protect her, he thought, filled to the brim with good intention.

But he hadn’t. 

The next day, as if to save face for abandoning Tifa to her fate, the boys cornered him with their fists full of rocks, their lips twisted with sneers. _“We’ll make sure you leave with more than scratches this time,”_ they promised.

It hadn’t been enough for the adults to scream at him earlier— their faces burning red brands, their arms flinging towards him wildly, _“What the hell were you thinking? Bringing her to a place like that.”_

It hadn’t been enough that when he stared past them— trying to numb himself to their anger—  Tifa remained motionless in a bed of clean white cotton sheets, a monitor hooked to her arm. Her father stood nearby holding her hand, so small between both of his. Cloud heard him ask the doctor, _“I’ve just lost her mother. Will I lose my daughter now, too?”_

Before that day, loneliness had convinced him he was different from most people. Everything after simply confirmed it.

-

Back in the present, he finds himself shaking in Zack’s grasp.

Luck isn’t in his favor. Cloud _Strife_ isn’t meant for good things— not unless he _sweats_ and _suffers_ and _bleeds_ for them. What makes Zack think he is enough, that he _deserves_ to be loved?

He takes a gulp of air and holds it in tight, begging himself not to sob.

“I’ll show you,” Zack promises, as if answering the unspoken cry. He takes Cloud’s wrist gently and pulls it to his mouth. He kisses his pulse, his palm, the tip of his every finger.

Zack’s voice is unnaturally steady, like the ocean after a heavy storm. “I’ll show you until you _know_.”

-

It’s impossible not to notice when Zack’s returned from a mission. Cloud’s head always perks up at the sound of shuffling boots and muffled laughter before he comes in, like a litter of excited puppies bounding up against their walls.

The knob twists, the door swings open. Zack abandons his sword in the entryway with a loud _CLANK_. He runs up to Cloud, noogies his knuckles in his hair, grabs him by the narrow shoulders and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” Zack always says with a smile that creases his face, “Missed you so much.”

Today things are different.

There’s no prelude of laughter on the other side of the door. The handle hardly clinks open when Zack walks in. He simply lays his sword down, wanders up to Cloud, and brushes his bangs out of his face.

“Missed you,” Zack says, but it’s different this time. His fingers linger on the apple of  Cloud’s cheek. Darkened eyes look into Cloud’s as if he could reach something in them, cradle it close to himself, never let it go.

Cloud takes his hand in his, presses his face into Zack’s palm. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing I can talk about,” Zack says with a wry, sad smile. He pauses for a moment, leans in, gives Cloud a kiss so soft and lingering it feels like drizzling rain. “I love you,” he breathes.

Cloud freezes against his lips. He takes a step back, “Is that what this is about?”

“No,” Zack shakes his head. He sighs a little, “Do you want to talk about it, though?”

Cloud doesn’t. “Now isn’t a good time,” he lies, deflects, “Something obviously happened on your mission.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Zack insists. “Besides, like I said, I can’t talk about it—  ShinRa classified.” The smile on his face grows wider, but sadder. He steps forward to bridge the gap between them, tips his forehead down against Cloud’s, gently rubs his hands up and down his arms, “I want to talk about _you_.” 

_“I wish you’d just stop.”_

The words are out of Cloud’s mouth before he can halt them, but now he can never take them back. He doesn’t need to clarify what he means; they both know.

Cloud’s mouth works, “It’s not that I don’t…” he breathes in, “…Zack…” He crosses his arms between them, holds onto himself tightly. Finally, he says, “…I’m not something you can save with the power of love.”

This time, Zack is the one to step away. The words seem to hit something far too recent in him, to strike like gunshot and leave him haunted. “Maybe not,” he admits, as if more to himself, “…but I still wish it could.”

Cloud briefly squeezes his eyes shut.

Zack can sense that this is leading to a stalemate, a bridge neither of them are ready to cross yet, “You want to talk about something else?”

Cloud nods in relief. 

“Are you excited about Nibelheim next week?” Zack asks, moving to get some bread for a sandwich, “I’ll finally get to meet your mom,” he grins a little, at last— far more genuinely than he’s had all day, “and lucky you—  you’ll get to see your hero Sephiroth.”

-

_“I love you.”_

Cloud’s mako-addled brain barely registers the words past the hum of a truck engine, the vague bump of rubber tires hitting rocks. Zack’s face is a blur. A lovely, lovely blur. Cloud swears he can almost see the outline of a halo, of unfurling white wings behind him.

_“I love you and I promise you—  I’m getting you out of this hell.”_

-

Bullets. The sound of them, so unbearably loud, shocks Cloud into the present— if only for the moment. An outcrop in the mountains provides his only shelter from the battle raging a few yards away, the stone’s jagged face digging into his shoulders where he’s slumped like a treasured doll, discarded for his own safety. The smoke of gunpowder and blasted sand wafts into his nose, dusts the back of his dry throat and makes it itch.

He doesn’t know where he is, but he knows he does not want to be _here._

He wants to be back on the couch with Zack as a storm rages outside. Wants to be nestled safely on Zack’s chest, snickering as he looks up to find a finger-puppet play being put on, just for him. He wants to watch intently as Zack’s hands animate shadows on the wall between the flashes of lightning, making rabbits hop and wolves prowl and chocobos trot through tall grass.

He wants to be sitting on a log outside their tent, enduring burnt rations near the campfire. Wants to catch Zack oddly wordless, staring up at the vast night sky up above them. Wants the candid image to make him recall that, in the city, stars don’t shine nearly this bright, this clear. To realize again with wonder how Zack never takes anything for granted. To feel, in that moment, Zack’s arm intertwine with his.

Zack… _Zack_ … where was he?

The last rattle of gunfire had been some time ago, and now everything is too quiet.

-

The sight of Zack bleeding on the ground is far more sobering than the sound of bullets.

Cloud tests his feet, but they won’t carry him— they buckle underneath him the minute he tries to stand.  He gathers what strength he has and pushes against the wall of rock, flattening himself onto his stomach. He crawls his way toward Zack and prays—  to Ifrit, to Shiva, to _anything_ that will listen— that when he gets there, things won’t be as bad as they seem.

“Zack… I’m here now,” he says when he finally reaches him, gathering him up into a weak embrace, “Things are going to be okay.”

“I... love...” Zack attempts to smile, so, so _terribly_ cold in his arms. It seems impossible that Zack could even think the word _love_ , much less form it on his lips one last time. The flush of the usual life in his cheeks fades, leaving just a paleness that reminds Cloud of wax.

“I _know_ you do, Zack...” The tears burning past Cloud’s desperate smile feels so much different than the icy spill of rain. There are so many holes in Zack. Too many holes. Cloud tries, but can’t cover them all. “What if I…” he shakes his head, “No, I believe you... _I believe you_ now, Zack. And I love you, too, so we can change this. We can _save_ this. You can’t…”

His throat chokes on the enormity, the absolute finality of the word he’s about to say— so he doesn’t.

Instead, he clenches his convulsing fingers until the knuckles flash white against Zack’s body.  He licks his lips and presses them against Zack’s ear, rocking him the way a mother comforts her child. If it’s for Zack’s sake anymore, or for his own selfish one, he cannot tell.

“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I believe you now, so _please_...”

The rain continues to fall, _tip-tap-tip_. There’s no other sound. He begins to worry that, very soon, he might have to face reality, to have to tell himself that Zack is…

-

When the word _‘dead’_ finally hits, he faces the watercolor gray sky and howls into the tempest above, wretched and feral. He gasps in a ragged breath. Whines brokenly. Sobs again until it thieves all the air from his lungs and they ache, they _scream_ along with him.

Zack had _loved_ Cloud. Enough to give his own life for him. Was there more that any lover could do?

-

Hours later, Cloud is still in the rain. It should bother him that he has no recollection of how he got there— the handle of the Buster Sword gripped tightly in his hands— but it doesn’t. He tries his best not to drag the blade on the ground as he trudges, step by step through the mud, toward the lights of the city glaring neon in the distance. The oversized weapon makes his arms ache with how heavy it is, but he’s confident he’ll be able to wield it soon.

After all, he’s SOLDIER 1st Class.

Cloud knows he must take the sword with him to Midgar. In some corner of the entrenched labyrinth of his mind, he’s aware of a great love, a great sacrifice attached to it. He knows he must honor that memory, must learn not to take it for granted.

He knows this, and yet there’s _something_ in the weeks later. Something that strangles his chest when he shuts his eyes— so close to dreaming—  until the walls hurt like they might cave. In those moments, he feels the impenetrable shell he’s made for himself crack in hairlines, then shatter. He wakes up with tears hanging in his lashes and doesn’t remember how they got there.

_You must live,_ a warm voice reminds him. It wraps around his shoulders like strong, loving arms.

Cloud knows this.

Cloud knows this, and yet sometimes— he cannot begin to remember _how._

 

**Author's Note:**

> You all can blame Flyleaf's "Circle" for inspiring my need to fulfill all your 'gay allegory for Jesus dying' needs. Also, I wrote this without a Beta (I would love one), so constructive criticism highly encouraged.


End file.
